Blood In the Snow | A Short Story
Summary: Have you ever wondered what it feels like to bleed out in the snow? All alone with only your thoughts and the pain to "comfort" you?..
A short story written by The Dead Author
A long breath crawls out from between my lips as I hurdle through the thick cold. Masses upon masses of the freezing white pull on my legs, pushing me five steps back with every two I dare take.
The world has reached temperatures beyond cold, a sensation so petrifying to my skin that I barely react to the piercing trauma anymore. I am numb all over. The occasional blows of wind and ice do nothing but further irritate my burning flesh.
And then there is the pain. Agonizing and tortuous, like the impalement of a thousand blades. The throbbing pain in my abdomen pushes and squeezes my exposed organs in unbelievable ways, so much that I find myself slipping from consciousness every now and then.
It punches and stings, deep in my flesh, and causes me agony beyond a human’s capacity of imagination. With my arms tightly pressed against the hole in my stomach, I try to get the pain under control. But just like the blazing midnight blizzard it reigns over my body in vast and uncontrollable ways.
I do not know what it is that forces me to push forward. An unknown force or a cry deep within my soul. Perhaps there is no solid reason, as men at heart are truly foolish, seeing vibrant colors when the scenery is painted gray and blue.
One leg after the other strides forward, past its limits and further beyond..just away from where I came from.
Cold is the air, have I mentioned that before? It is difficult to tell what is real and what is but a figment of my imagination in these conditions.
The pouring snow threatened to bury him alive in its masses and the seeping pain from his wound did not do him any favors either. All that was certain was his demise.
One should be more devastated when faced with certain death, yet I find myself unfazed, as this outcome was all too predictable. The very instant that knife met my flesh, the clock of my last moments started ticking.
Bleeding out in the snow, how romantic, is it not? With no one to save or hear me. No one to relieve me from this misery or give me warmth in these so cold moments.
I chuckle. Not because of the absurdness of the situation or to keep face in front of my demons. I do it because I cannot help myself but find this all so amusing. A fool digs a hole and ends up falling in himself. From the very moment she whispered poison into my ear I should have realized that there was no other ending to this story.
The fool is me and so is the shovel and the hole and the moral of the joke. A rhyme?
My eyes once again attempt to peer into the distance. This time I am met with a more promising view– a horizon that is illuminated by subtle sparks of light. A town perhaps?
When we drove by the forest two days ago, the scenery blended in with the world just perfectly. We moved fast, the speed limit of no interest to us.
Before I knew it we had arrived at the place I mistook for the heavens, a small cabin amidst the forest's depths. To think that I have made it so far in this weakened state, from the bushes to the asphalt, the human spirit was truly astonishing.
The night is so peaceful and quiet, eerie to the ears of the innocent. But I have listened to such silence before, a silence so out of place and weird, it pulls on your sanity. I have long embraced it and if it was not for my death, I would have found myself enjoying it.
My body can no longer hold up in these conditions. Every step taken brings me closer to certain doom and the realisation slowly begins to manifest in my consciousness
I do not want to die, I do not!
My body shivers all over, in desperate hope to accumulate some type of heat– anything! What was previously known to me as a freezing cold has long overstepped those bounds.
Seventeen years of existence and I have nothing to show for. As I look down on my hands all I see is the bleeding red, stains of failure and wrong doings even the snow cannot wash away. The frost bites that are taking on a revolting, black hue.
Will I die a failure? Will I perish as a nobody? Just another body to the world and the last victim of that psychotic woman who I blindly followed here.
I will surely meet her in hell.
Minutes pass by, or perhaps even hours. My consciousness is no more, only a hollow vessel of what once used to be my body. My skin has turned numb and pale, a sickening blue that strikes my heart with fear and concern.
It hurts, it hurts so much.
I have lost the ability to cry, to feel anything, really.
It burns all over my skin in ways that can only be described by the ear piercing screams I find myself generating. my
I don't want to die mom..please…
All of a sudden my limbs stop shaking, despite the snow not subsiding around me.
My mothers gentle fingers brush over my skin as she urges me to lay down with her in the snow. Her touch is warm and kind, comforting in ways only a mother could perform. As I meet her gaze, her face morphs into one with the woman's..but I do not mind. They share the same brown hair and eyes that know me all too well.
It is all the same to me now.
My blood crystallized in the snow, painting the blank canvas red. I have been leaving traces of myself behind all along, the stained snow following me from the thick forest down to the beginning of this small town.
I am in a state of pain that can only mean death. Can I at least be given the privilege of tears?
Alone in an unknown town, eaten by the gluttonous snowfall. My blood continues to stain the white, long after I succumb to the cold.
My body remains there, unmoving, to be found by the people once the sun rises. My mother will cry the tears that were taken from me by the cold and mourn my death for years to come. But the world? It will see me as something they can devour and dream about, a distant fantasy– a wish.
Well, it is all blood in the snow.
